We have a culture in wallowing in negativity. I am currently fighting to change my mind, literally, change my daily and hourly thoughts. I’ve always based my writing on negativity. It’s how I coped with issues I didn’t have anyone to talk to about. It’s so hard. Negativity is […]
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Twenty-Six Students in a Mixing Bowl Twenty-Six students in a mixing bowl, boiling to escape They’re sliding cards and “f*cks!” across the table Public Displays of Affection without discretion “It’s not just a kiss,” I say. There’s confrontation: a girl about to beat the sh*t out of a boy
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This is a new poem… second draft. Being I stand, admiring the edge of clouds along the sky but I can’t connect to their certainty of being, and action. I’m floating like an air molecule, “invisible to the naked eye,” but I’m here. Fluid like ocean water and
This is another old poem I wrote in college… undergrad maybe. I think it’s strange how I wait years and years to share things I’ve written. Do you other writers do that? Anyways here it is South Beach Lavender moonlight nudges sun rays creeping behind the horizon. But a
I wrote a lot of poetry in college. My sophomore year (2005) I debated whether or not I should stop relaxing my hair. This poem was written at the very beginning of my transition. This is my favorite poem that I’ve written. My Hair I like to examine the way
It’s hot and very humid. I’m drenched in sweat and have only been sitting at the train station for ten minutes. All the busyness of the world stopped the moment I sat down. I used to take public transportation everywhere when I didn’t have a car. First, there would
Prose Poem & Getting Back to Basics Read More »
Two things: #1. Sometimes I wonder if I wrote every day, would I be so tightly wound up? Would I be a control freak? #2. I’m sitting in my room, on the floor, eating a brownie with my fingers out of a bowl, with the lights off. It’s twilight.
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I stew. My blood boils. I want to snap tree trunks in half. I want to take a sledgehammer and destroy doors and windows. I want to take expensive electronics and hurl them so they shatter into a million pieces. A therapist once suggested that I throw ice
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A giant slug of a woman, dressed in an unbecoming tan and excrement brown, left a stinking trail of air that wafted behind her A hint of cherry squeezed through her stench I looked up from the safety of my counter The slug, looked into my eyes suggestively her
So I wrote this poem about a year ago, it has some cliche parts, I know. I wrote it when I was emotional. Just sharing early bits of the writing process… Falling From A Bridge If I’d only known you’d never come back to me That lack of any
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